Close Call
by BeatrixBlack
Summary: I knew how I was supposed to feel. Hands holding my wrist tight enough to leave bruises. Hot, angry breath in my face. But for some reason fear wasn't what was running through my mind or coursing through my veins, or pooling in my lower abdomen with a familiar heat. Spot was close. Really close.


I knew how I was supposed to feel. Hands holding my wrist tight enough to leave bruises. Hot, angry breath in my face. Blue eyes locked into mine; with such wild anger and rage they didn't even seem human.

I was supposed to feel fucking scared. Terrified of losing my lousy life at the hands of an angry 16-year-old who'd seen enough brawls to make a professional boxer raise an eyebrow. A certain important 16-year-old, who currently had a gold-tipped cane attached to his hip. A cane that I knew had seen some head bashing.

But for some reason fear wasn't what was running through my mind or coursing through my veins, or pooling in my lower abdomen with a familiar heat. Spot was close. _Really_ close. So close I could see little freckles on his nose and count the eyelashes framing the orbs looking into mine.

Looking _directly_ into mine. Like holy hell, his face is close enough for me to lean in. I'm an idiot. It's that kind of stupid thinking that got me into this mess.

It started as it does for everyone I assume. Or not everyone, I guess just queers. As a kid I didn't think anything of it but I liked hanging out with other boys. Like I _liked_ it. The rough housing, the friendly hugs, the sweat after playing a game of baseball… But once puberty hit, _it_ quickly turned from nothing to a fuck ton of shame.

I didn't realize what I was feeling was any different from my compadres until I would hear stories of them and some dame getting it on. I thought I was a late bloomer, that maybe my wanting to get with girls would come too. But waking up in the middle of the night with a sticky sensation between my thighs and the dream of rough hands on my neck, arms and/or ass still so clear I could taste it convinced me otherwise.

I realized the "late blooming" was me not wanting soft lips and smooth legs and hips and, dare I say it, _breasts_.

I understandably had to make up a few stories of my own conquests to not make myself look suspicious.

"Oh yeah, last night I met with this real looker. She's a good height and was wearing a… brown dress and _lordy_ she was not afraid of, uh, moving her body around on mine." I understand this is not exactly a very detailed or good or even appealing story but the nuns at Catholic school did use to tell me that I wasn't a very creative liar. But the other newsies left me alone and I was left alone with my private, sexy boy thoughts.

Then I met Spot fucking Colon. I hate to admit it but I saw him and I was a Goddamn goner. He smirked at me and spit in his glorious hand, pushing it forward. You bet your ass I spit in my and gave him what he was asking for.

"Nice to meet you, Racetrack," _Unmguh._ My name in those plump, begging-to-be-kissed lips was hot as a summer night in a bunkroom with 49 boys. I mean that in both ways you could take it.

Of course as you can imagine as I got to know Spot the initial fair-tale-quality-like-charm about him wore off. He's basically the worst but the bad boy thing is kind of my weak spot. Ha spot… never mind.

As the years went by I had a couple close calls of my desire almost taking over and I nearly smashing my face in his and finally feeling the things I'd been imaging. There was the time we were sitting alone at the dock during sundown and Spot's hair was shinning and his biceps gleaming with a mixture of sweat and bay water. Then of course the time Spot complimented me on _my_ hair. And by compliment I mean a very classic;

"Hey'a Race that mess you call hair isn't looking too freakish today. You got a hot date or something?" he smirked. I held onto those words for days.

And of course the time that cannot go by without acknowledging, the time Spot was drunk off his ass and touching me.

"Youse got a funny mouth," he said, leaning on me and pointing to my mouth.

"Yeah, lets get you home buddy," I said practically carrying his weight on my right side with his left arm swung over my shoulder.

He leaned in closer to my ear, "Anyone ever tell you, you always look like you're pouting?" I shivered involuntarily as his lips ghosted the shell of my ear.

"Nope." I said, my voice already fucking hoarse, trying my best to lean away from him, which proved to be impossible with carrying him.

He leaned in even closer, lips having full contact with my ear, "But you dooooo," Spot whined. Mother fuck, it hurt because he spoke at full volume directly into my ear but Mother fucking fuck it was the sweetest thing I've ever felt. The sound I made after that must have sounded very strange and _very_ embarrassing but he's definitely forgotten that night. The rest of the walk home was consistent of him hobbling on my side and me very awkwardly leaning to my left trying to get as far away as possible from his heat. Well get away form his heat and the heat that was filling my body that he caused. Couldn't get away from that though.

This time he just pushed me too far. I mean _come on_ a man can only take so much. Or rather, a hormonal 18-year-old boy can only take so very very little. And I've done a great job. I really deserve a medal on how long I've been taking it and just burying it inside me, only for it to resurface in my sleep or in the shower…

Spots raise of power made it, if possible, even more inappropriate to have the feelings I was having for him. I don't want to admit I moved from Brooklyn to Manhattan because of a crush but I definitely moved from Brooklyn to Manhattan because of a crush. Manhattan is nicer anyway, the boys are hip, nobody is waking up with rat droppings on their bunk, life is good. I still get to see Spot and my pals from Brooklyn often enough.

Like nights like tonight when we all meet up at Medda's theater for basically a newsies hoedown. Everybody's drinking, hell I am drinking enough to make me feel courageous enough to sit next to Spot and laugh and joke and even, yes even touch him. In a non-homosexual-I-want-to-touch-you kind of way. Spot was different that night though. He drank enough to move from the liquid courage stage to the laughing, then yelling, to finally the quite and dark stage he gets at.

His eyes never seemed to be unfocused though. His dark gaze and scowl was staring me right back in the face whenever I looked at him. I don't remember ever seeing Spot this drunk. He usually keeps himself in check on account of him needing to watch over his boys or his poker cards or his business deal laying out in front of him. Whatever the reason all the other Brooklyn boys and I had never seen him so drunk.

It was really late and most everyone had gone, even Spot's boys. His second and third in command on his okay obviously but it was still unusual. I stayed for no real reason other than Spot is the hottest God damn thing on this earth and with that little extra boost the alcohol gave me I had the courage to not runaway from him. And I care about his safety of course.

Walking out of the theater the cold air hit me and immediately sobered me up. Holy shit, I was alone with a very drunk Spot and now I needed to carry him home and the last time that happened he made me take cold showers for weeks.

"Spot you better just stay the night in the lodging house on Duane, it's too late to walk back to Brooklyn." I said trying to seem as un-hopeful as possible.

"I'm fine I can walk just fine. And I don't want to sleep with you pansy's anyway," Spot said staring at me with deep blue eyes. Lol, little does he know.

"Well us, _pansy's,_ live six blocks that way so why don't you give it a rest and just be with us for one night," I said placing my right hand on his shoulder in what I hopped was an encouraging way. Spot lazily turned his head down to look at my hand. I pulled away self-consciously.

"And besides," I continued, focusing on keeping my voice its normal pitch, "tomorrow morning I'm going to Brooklyn anyway and you can just walk with me."

Spot took a step towards me so we were only about six inches apart. He slowly raised his arm like he was going in for a side hug and I couldn't breath as he drew it closer to me. He draped his arm over my shoulder, silently agreeing to stay in the Manhattan lodging house tonight.

I chuckled, and started dragging his skinny body down the street. My right hand found its way across his side and as I held on I could feel his bottom rib. I could feel the heat of his arm around my shoulders and the heat my hand was giving off on his side, only a thin white shirt between us. Spot's head turned to me in that same lazy fashion. I focused my eyes ahead, not wanting our faces to be so close but at the same time wanting it so bad. He leaned in towards my ears. _Not fucking again._

"Hey Race," he breathed. Even more heat hitting my body and starting to blossom in my stomach.

"What Spot," I said, annoyed. Annoyed he is making me go through this with him again.

"You've got such long eyelashes," his nose bumped my ear and the cold of it made me jump.

"Yeah," I said just focusing on the road ahead of me.

"Raaace," _Fuck._ His breathy tone and sexy half lidded eyes went straight to my dick.

" _What_ Spot," I said looking at him through the corner of my eye. His opposite hand came to stroke the side of my face. As his fingers moved down my eye lids fluttered shut and my mouth feel open a little bit in surprise. It felt _good_ to have him touch me.

I quickly grabbed his wrist harshly, "What _the fuck_ are you doing?" I said through clenched teeth. Did he know where we were? In the middle of the fucking street! If anyone saw us they'd kick our asses or worse, call the cops.

"Just trying to get you to notice me," Spot said stopping his little to no effort in walking forward and effectively stopping the both of us. He removed his arm from over my shoulder, which gave me conflicting feelings but within seconds both his hands where on either of my shoulders and he was looking me straight in the eyes.

"Do you notice me?" he seemed to be somewhere else and I was reminded again how drunk he must be.

Looking around anxiously for possible bystanders I said, "Yes you're holding me down and I was just walking your sorry ass home, of course I notice you."

"Yeah but, do you _notice_ me?" before I realized it I was walking backwards and I was up against a brick wall, actually trapped between Spot's arms. He took a step towards me so our bodies were inches apart. And he was looking at my lips.

I think after you've imagined something, as much as I have imagined Spot kissing me, once it's actually reality it's hard to remember what is real life. That's why when Spot leaned in I, as if I've been doing this for years, leaned right back into him. But as my eyes closed I didn't feel anything on my lips. Instead I felt hot breath on my neck. Opening my eyes I saw the side of Spot's head, and his mouth directed to my neck. My knees buckled and my breath started to pick up. _Is this happening?_

"Spot- ugh," I tried to ask what he was doing. I tried to ask what the hell he thought he was doing but the words got caught in my throat when his lips came in contact with my neck. And then a tongue came in contact with my neck. Spot very clearly knew what he was doing. He flicked his tongue and glided the tip of it up my neck and stopping on the shell of my ear, then licking around it and making sure to breathe right where I would feel the hot vibrations.

"You like that?" I inhaled sharply at his deeper, rougher, _sexier_ voice. Did I like that? That's like asking a poor kid if he likes free food. Yes I fucking liked it!

Right before I could squeak out some embarrassing attempt at sounding cool and asking him what the fuck he was doing Spot pulled us into an alley that by some gift of God was right next to us.

I managed to find my feet right before he pushed me up against the wall in the alley. Grabbing his arms I said,

"What are you doing? What are _we_ doing?" He just looked at me and continued to push me up against the wall, not roughly which was how I had imagined it would go. No he very gently just lowered his lips back to the same side of my neck but this time his lips moved to the side instead of up, towards my lips. He kissed my jaw then moved to my chin then the other side of my jaw, a slight disappointed whine escaped my mouth, and then moved down to the other side of my neck.

Then he bite down, _hard._ I gasped wildly and my hands flew from his arms to knot in his hair. That felt really good. Spot looked up at me with a smirk and looking super sexy with his lips slightly swollen. He bite down again, this time a little higher and my hips jerked and my jaw dropped in a silent moan. Making a small moan of his own, Spot bite me again on my earlobe and then autopilot took over.

I flipped us around and slammed Spot against the wall, putting my mouth harshly on his and kissing him like I desperately needed. Maybe I did. My hands in his hair started pulling and tugging making a deep groan erupt out of Spot and Spot's hands moved to my back, pulling me closer. Our bodies were pressed up against each other and a groan of my own presented itself. My hands left his hair and started to roam around him, touching anything and everything above the waist, I didn't want to freak him out. Feeling his chest, teasing his lower abdomen by moving my thumbs just above his waistband.

Holy fucking shit. This was a Goddamn dream. Spot seemed to attack my mouth back almost immediately and to feel that urgency in him made my member stand to attention even more.

What came next I couldn't help, I needed to readjust myself because it was in an awkward angle but once my hand was down there I just needed to feel pressure. I was more turned on then I can ever remember.

Spot noticed my hand and it's position and he broke away from the kiss.

Terror.

This is it, this is where Spot realizes what he's doing and who he's doing it with. But he didn't immediately punch me in the face, he instead put his hand on top of mine. No dick touching action but the added pressure and heat and knowledge that Spot's hand was very close to penis made my hips jerk forward hard and collide with Spots. In hindsight that was probably a very funny sight to see, two boys trying to grind against each other but too afraid of the gay to be without their own hands serving as a barrier. Spot grabbed my hand that was currently attached to my member and moved both mine and his away, then rubbed himself up and down me very hard and very sexy like.

"Oh God Spot," I moaned, leaning my head against his shoulder and then pushing it so I could kiss his glorious neck. That seemed to encourage Spot, he grinded harder and faster as I marked his neck with probably a dozen hickeys.

The noises Spot was making only encouraged the attack on his neck. I bit down a little with high hopes of a similar reaction to my earlier one. And at first I wasn't disappointed. Spot's hand flew to my shoulders and squeezed and his head arched back so the crown of it was against the wall. But his hips stopped. I kissed his neck for a few more seconds, hoping he would start moving again but eventually I stopped as well.

Oh Jesus Lord, there we stood, frozen. Him looking up into the starless New York sky and me with my face awkwardly hovering over his shoulder.

Spot slowly looked down at me, "Race?" he said. It was a question.

I slowly looked back up at him, "Yeah Spot," I said. It was an answer.

Spot's eyes narrowed and his head tilted to the side. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck me fuck._ His arms at my shoulders pushed back violently and sent me flying to the other side of the ally.

"Race!" This time it was not a question or an answer but rather a proclamation of frustration and plain fear.

I stayed where I was up against the opposite side of the ally. There was no way in sweet hell I was going to win this fight. My only hope was to stand completely still against this wall and hope to teenage Jesus running away from home to hangout with the rabbi's Spot didn't notice me.

Spot did notice me, extremely easily being that he threw me against the wall in the first place. And I knew he definitely noticed me by feeling a fist connect with my jaw. My head snapped to the side and I spit out blood.

"What the _fuck_ was that?" he snarled. Spot's voice was deep and scratchy, from either the sex or from anger I couldn't tell.

"Listen Spot-" I was interrupted by another fist making contact with my face. Okay so he wasn't looking for an answer. Good fuck I was going to have one hell of a shiner tomorrow. And Spot was going to have a lot of hickey's. What are we going to tell the other guys.

He wasn't finished. He kneed me in the gut while I was still reeling from the last punch. I bent over in pain and a loud groan escaped me. Spot grabbed my wrists and slammed them above me head against the wall behind me.

We were chest to chest, eyes to… well mouth kind of. But I could still so easily feel his heat and for some fucked up reason my body had not completely calmed down.

"Listen Spot." I continued much slower and more cautiously. Not only for Spot's sake but also because I was trying to keep my voice even and not too obviously horny and therefore queer. Spot's stance was still defensive but at least he stayed still. "Look, I know that was… weird." _I'm fucking it up._ "But um, we don't need to tell anyone," I added lamely.

Spot had not moved. I couldn't even really tell if he was breathing.

"And this won't happen again," I added in hopes of not getting my ass beat off but with other hopes that Spot would proclaim he wanted it to happen again and then jump into my arms and we'd ride off into the sunset.

Spot looked around and released my hands. The ally was standard, disgusting with trash and evidence of rats. And by the look on Spot's face I could tell he felt similar disgust with himself as I did with the ally.

He brought his eyes back to mine; "Just… Let's just go to the Manhattan lodging house," he said, defeated. And with that he turned around and started walking towards home. He steps were drunkenly staggered and his shoulders where still held high.

Taking a deep breath I felt the feeling of Spot's lips on my own and the shame of what the nuns would possibly think of me and the blaring hope that maybe Spot wouldn't remember anything the next morning. I followed him out.

Hi guys this is my first story on here in a very, very long time. Please rate and review and expect more Race and Spot and possibly other things. Thanks!

BB


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